


When I Think About You, I Touch My Elf

by the_genderman



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Fluff and Smut, Half-Elves, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tieflings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 21:06:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16354301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_genderman/pseuds/the_genderman
Summary: Some self-indulgent D&D-themed PWP. Half-elf OC and tiefling OC, neither of which I have played in a game. I don’t even have a character sheet for Erevan, and I just threw together Balior’s to play around.





	When I Think About You, I Touch My Elf

**Author's Note:**

> Title suggested by Pineau_noir
> 
> (Search people to find them, the last time I tried to make a link happen, AO3 kept eating it, so this is safer.)

“Erevan, darling, beloved, my one and only. Come to bed,” Balior croons, leaning around the doorframe. His nails tap impatiently on the wood and his tail-tip flicks in and out of sight.

Erevan doesn’t look up from his writing desk. He’s working by lamplight, the sun having set long ago. He sighs. His abacus clicks as he tallies the sales and purchases. “I know, I’ll be there as soon as I am able. I have to finish these invoices.”

“But it’s late and I’ve missed you,” Balior continues, his voice low and musical. “You’ve been gone for far too long, and now you’re home and you’re still off, far and away from me with your paperwork.”

“Believe me, I don’t enjoy this part of my job any more than you do, but it has to be done. This isn’t your family’s house, we don’t have scribes and servants and people to do everything for us,” Erevan says, pausing to find his penknife to shave his quill. “And I _have_ been gone long enough that the sooner I get these finished, the better. We have suppliers and guild artists waiting for these invoices.”

Balior sighs dramatically. “I know,” he admits. “I know things aren’t what I grew up with, and I am happy here with you, happy with what we have, but I _missed_ you.”

Erevan looks up, turning toward his husband. Balior is dressed in his favorite old dressing gown, a slightly faded dark blue, but still clearly of very fine manufacture, richly embroidered. He’s leaning against the doorframe, his pose obviously trying for ‘seductive’ but only half achieving it, the other half appearing more ‘tired.’ His pale eyes catch the lamplight, sparkling silvery despite its warm golden glow, and the light brings out flashes of copper in his wine-red skin. He tilts his head, one short, curved horn scratching another shallow gouge into the wood of the doorframe. Erevan has considered getting the scratches sanded out and stained over, but every time he does, something inside him tells him not to. It’s their little bit of domestic imperfection. He can’t help but smile at the picture. He knows he shouldn’t have looked if he planned to finish the invoices tonight like he had said he would. He’s missed Balior as much as Balior has missed him.

“Alright, you silver-tongued devil, you’ve convinced me,” Erevan teases. He stands up, stretches, and recaps his inkwell. “I’ll be right there, dearest.”

Balior lets very few people call him any variation of ‘devil’ or ‘devilish’ to his face, but coming from his husband, he knows it’s a term of endearment. He uncurls his fingers from the doorframe, pushes himself upright, and disappears into their bedroom. “ _You_ know what to bring with you,” his voice trails out the door.

\--------------

Erevan finally enters the bedroom. Balior is on the bed, reclining against their entire collection of throw pillows. Erevan’s always thought that many pillows was slightly excessive, but Balior was raised in a much different, much richer and more extravagant household, one which he willingly renounced to take his place as Erevan’s side to live the life accorded to a merchant. So, ok, he doesn’t really regret the little bit of excess—as long as they stay mostly on Balior’s side of the bed. Balior’s fingers pluck at the belt of his dressing gown and his tail-tip swishes contentedly like a cat’s. Erevan sets the little flask down on the table by their bed, gives Balior a little bow of his head, and begins to undress.

Erevan’s skin is a cool fawn-brown with olivey, almost green, undertones, a blending of his human mother and wood elf father. Balior drinks in the view as his husband sheds his clothing, revealing more and more of his skin. And the smattering of dark hair crossing his chest and trailing down his stomach. It’s a contrast to Balior’s smooth, mostly hairless skin, and he quite enjoys running his hands over Erevan’s chest, feeling the soft hair beneath his fingers. His fingers twitch, itching to touch his husband again, gone for so long on his mercantile travels.

When Erevan gets the last of his clothing off and tucked aside, Balior sits up, a hungry, excited grin on his face. He draws the belt of his dressing gown out of its knot and lets the garment slide off of his shoulders. In the same motion, he flicks his hand, spiriting the dressing gown off to its peg in their wardrobe, then—equally magically—trimming the wicks in their bedroom lamps to allow a comfortable near-darkness to settle over their bedroom.

Erevan chuckles and shakes his head, smiling. “You never tire of doing mundane tasks by magic, do you?”

“I was born with magic, why _shouldn’t_ I make use of it?” Balior replies, flopping down onto his back, and causing some of his hill of pillows to collapse. Perhaps to tease Erevan, he wiggles his fingers and magically sweeps most of the remaining pillows to the floor. He’ll dust them off later.

“Show-off,” Erevan laughs and climbs into bed, laying on his side next to Balior, his head propped up on his hand.

“You love it,” Balior counters and rolls onto his side. He leans in to kiss Erevan, one hand finding and slowly stroking over his chest. He tweaks a nipple, causing Erevan to give a little hiss of surprise.

“Oh, that’s how this is going to be?” Erevan asks, hand going reflexively to his chest, pinning Balior’s. He twines their fingers together and rolls Balior onto his back, raising his arm above his head. Balior squeezes Erevan’s hand and merely grins in reply. 

Erevan swings his leg over Balior’s and braces his other arm along the mattress by Balior’s side, stabilizing his position as he dips his head to kiss him again. Balior twists his free arm up to allow his fingers to linger on Erevan’s collarbone. Erevan feels the warm squeeze of Balior’s tail as it curls around one leg. He kisses Balior’s mouth, cheek, jaw, ear, and the dip in the middle of his brow between where his horns begin. Balior groans and squirms under his attentions, hand creeping up to Erevan’s back, nails scratching at his skin. Erevan unclasps his hand from Balior’s, reaches down, and ruts their cocks together in a loose grip, rolling his hips and drawing pleasured noises from both of them.

Erevan is briefly startled as the little flask of oil floats up from the table to tap against his shoulder. He knows Balior is an accomplished sorcerer, but even now it still surprises him a little when and where (and under what circumstances) he is capable of utilizing his arts.

“Why, thank you,” Erevan says, rising to his knees and taking his hands off of his husband. 

Erevan accepts the floating flask and Balior extricates his legs from between his, uncoiling his tail. Balior raises and grasps his knees, presenting himself. Erevan scoots closer, sits back on his heels, and pours out a little of the oil, rubbing his fingers slickly together. He leans in to massage the tips of his first two fingers against Balior’s anus, slowly and gently working him open.

“You missed me and I missed you,” Erevan murmurs to his husband. “You missed my company and I yours. We both missed our conversations. I missed working beside you as we tend to our household. You missed this, and I know I did as well.” With the pronunciation of ‘ _this_ ,’ his first finger breaches Balior and draws a moan, nearly a whimper, from him. 

Balior’s tail twitches excitedly and he sighs out a breathy “ _Please_.”

“Don’t worry,” Erevan says softly as he teases Balior open. “I will give you everything you need.”

As he works his third finger into Balior, Erevan feels the press of an invisible hand on the small of his back, urging him forward. He sees a brazen smirk on Balior’s face and feels the press of the hand again.

“So impatient,” Erevan tuts with a smile of his own. He withdraws his fingers, feels the hand lift off of his back, and the flask of oil floats back over to him to pour into the hand he cups for it. He oils his cock, lines himself up, and leans down to kiss Balior as they couple.

Only now that he is joined with his lover in such intimate closeness does Erevan allow himself to truly relax into the moment. He lets out a long, yearning sigh and sinks down onto Balior’s body, feeling the throb of his cock between their bellies. Balior wraps his legs around Erevan’s thighs and his arms around his back. He strokes one hand soothingly across his shoulderblade and up and down his side. Erevan rolls his hips and moans at the wealth of sensations from the warmth, from all the sights, sounds, places he touches Balior and where he is touched by him. He _has_ missed this.

Balior pants out a litany of his husband’s name as he climbs closer and closer to his climax. He squeezes Erevan tighter with his legs, urging him deep. Through the embrace of his arms, he feels Erevan’s breathing grow faster and shallower as he, too, grows close to orgasm. “Come for me, beloved,” Balior sighs. “Come for me, beloved, come—”

Balior’s words are cut off by a howling moan as the orgasm breaks over him, feeling like fire licking across his skin and through his insides. Erevan comes much more quietly, but no less intensely a few moments later, hips stuttering as he collapses more thoroughly onto Balior. Erevan nestles his face into the curve of Balior’s neck and sucks a lazy kiss against the skin as he returns to himself.

Balior grunts quietly as Erevan gathers himself back together and pulls out. He lifts his hand languidly, wiggling his fingers and magically cleaning the mess they’ve made. Erevan smiles and shakes his head fondly. 

“What?” Balior teases sleepily. “I’m tired, and this way we can go to sleep faster than if you have to go off and fetch a damp cloth. And if you don’t have to get up and fetch anything, you can stay here in bed with me and keep me warm as we fall asleep.”

“You do make a convincing argument,” Erevan replies. He tugs the blankets out from underneath Balior, pulls them up over the two of them, and settles himself up against his husband’s back, drapes an arm over him, and tangles their ankles together. They drift peacefully off to sleep.


End file.
